


Tony Stark vs. the Heteronormative Agenda

by sweatervest



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (or anything onward.), 5+1 Things, Avengers Tower, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweatervest/pseuds/sweatervest
Summary: Nat leans her hip against the table and folds her arms. “Short of making out in public, I don’t think anyone will make the jump to ‘they’re dating.’”Steve glances at her and then over at Tony.Nat follows Steve’s gaze. “You did make out in public.”“Steve never got his Time’s Square victory kiss,” Tony protests.--Or, five times the general public was determined to believe Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were just close friends, and the time Tony made sure they knew otherwise.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 255





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend-to-date or assumed-to-be-together tropes are some of my favorites. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how in real life, the default assumption for queer/LGBTQIA+ relationships is they're-just-good-friends, and what would happen if you flipped the trope in a fic to mirror that assumption. Here's my attempt to do so.
> 
> This fic originally had a very long title. While trying to revise the title to something shorter, I jokingly called it "Tony Stark vs. the Heteronormative Agenda" to a friend (a play on Becky Albertalli's _Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda_ ) and the title stuck.
> 
> While this is a 5+1 fic, there's also a prologue and an interlude. The prologue begins angsty, but that goes away pretty quickly, so I didn't add it in the tags.

Weeks after the six of them assemble into a team, New York is still a mess. There’s only so much catch-up reading Steve can do before he feels like he’s back in the ice, pressed flat under the weight of how much there is to learn. Going to a museum is tricky. Although most are keeping atypical hours to work around the cleanup, Steve gets recognized now. He barely remembers losing his cowl during the scuffle in the bank, and there’d been a front-page photograph of him in the New York Times a week later. His back to the camera, face turned to look over his left shoulder. People being led to safety behind him, the shield angled just so. It was a remarkable shot. 

Steve hated it. When someone recognizes him, Steve feels the bond salesman return, the one who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He thinks about the men whose names only he seems to remember, the ones who died in the fields, the trenches, the woods, the barns, the blown-out towns… 

He tries to stay inside. Learns how to blend in when he has to leave his apartment. Tries to ignore the scream that wants to claw out of his chest on the worst days. 

Steve knows he’s walking the razor-thin edge of survival, the one familiar thing in this century. 

—

One bad day when Steve wants to start running and go until he drops from exhaustion, Tony shows up at his door. 

“You busy?” he asks by way of greeting.

Steve blinks a few times. “No.”

“Good. Got a use for those muscles.” Tony takes in Steve’s workout clothes with a glance. “What you’re wearing is fine. Bring the shield.”

Tony turns and walks down the hall. 

Steve grabs his shield and keys and follows, not sure he’s ever felt this goddamn relieved. 

—

They go several blocks into the worst of the damage and meet a crew clearing rubble.

“Told you I’d bring in the big guns,” Tony says, clapping Steve’s shoulder. “This is Steve. Steve, meet Lou and his team.”

“Sir,” Steve says, shaking Lou’s hand. 

Lou looks startled at the address but recovers quickly. “Captain,” he returns, “and Mr. Stark, we appreciate the help. Most of this my guys can handle just fine, but we don’t got the equipment for the heavier stuff higher up.”

Tony looks over at Steve, an eyebrow raised.

“You bring the suit?” Steve asks.

Tony scoffs. “Ye of little faith.”

—

They work the rest of the day, then the days after. Steve starts to pull his beaten-up uniform back on before meeting Tony at whatever worksite he’s found this week. Hauling away rubble, lifting new girders and support beams, angling his shield so Tony can bounce an energy beam off of it—Steve can see his progress at the end of the day. It’s tangible. Not just a pile of information that feels like digging in water. 

He doesn’t even mind the day Tony grabs him by his uniform’s harness and flings him ten stories to pull open some twisted metal they can’t demolish for risk of the building collapsing on top of them. 

“You’re awfully calm about me tossing you around without permission,” Tony observes. “I expected another invitation to go a few rounds.”

Steve smiles, rueful. “Well, Romanov made it look so fun last time.”

Tony’s laugh is startled, but genuine. 

—

After that, conversation gets easier between them. Steve relishes the distraction, and how his ghosts seem to fade a little each day. Not gone—he expects they’ll never be gone—but quieter.

“I don’t believe you,” Tony mutters, scandalized across the comms as they work. “Never?”

“Never,” Steve confirms. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“It’s kiwi fruit, Steve. You can’t walk into a juice bar without tripping over one.” A pause. “You’ve never been to a juice bar, have you. Unbelievable. What the hell was SHIELD doing with you before Fury threw us all together and hoped we wouldn’t kill each other?”

Steve lets Tony’s grumbling roll over him while they work, surprised at how comforting it is. Tony grills him on other foods. Steve answers dutifully, thinking it’s just a way to pass the time until Tony turns up with a cooler full of things Steve says he’s never tried.

“Tony, I…I could’ve done this on my own,” he stumbles, knocked flat by the gesture. “No!” Steve interjects, already seeing Tony retreating into himself. “No, that’s not what I mean, I just.” He rubs a hand over his face. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in…”

“70 years?” Tony prompts, an amused glint in his eyes. “Or two? How do you quantify the time frozen?”

“If you come up with an equation to determine that, let me know. It’s made for awkward conversations on dates.”

“Ah, a science problem,” Tony muses. “I’m better at those than people problems.”

“You’re not so bad at people problems, either.”

“Yeah, well, you skipped that bit,” Tony replies with a dismissive wave. “I was a real self-involved asshole before the whole make-an-arc-reactor-in-a-cave thing. And after. Okay, I still am.”

“You were right about Banner,” Steve points out. “I missed it. I treated him like…well, like a science experiment. A chemical mixture.”

Tony gives Steve an evaluating look. “I was wrong about you.”

“You were, huh?”

“Steve, the closest thing to a living expert on Project: Rebirth you’re going to meet is me,” Tony replies, exasperated. “You think my old man ever shut up about it? ‘Good becomes great’ and all that? Trust me, I like you a lot better than the perfect role model I was supposed to grow into, even if it took a whole fight-for-Earth battle to get my head out of my ass. It was an impossible expectation. I didn’t even break six feet,” Tony finishes with a mutter.

“In fairness,” Steve beings slowly. “Neither did I until I was 25.”

Tony laughs and the dark cloud that settled over him evaporates. “That’s right, you had some help.”

“And you didn’t,” Steve says, gesturing at the armor. 

“Money is help.”

“Tony, will you take a compliment?” 

“Fine. How about this. Even Branca had Bobby Thomson, right?”

“Right,” Steve says, too surprised to do anything but agree. “You know, I met him once. Ralph Branca.”

“No shit?”

Steve nods. “Just after the Dodgers signed him. Did a special show for the team before they sent us to Europe. He couldn’t enlist because of his asthma—Branca, I mean. I…had some idea of what that was like.”

“Regular shit-stirrer, weren’t you?”

“Considering the source, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Tony grins, and Steve tucks his chin against his chest, breathing through the sudden flutter he feels just under his sternum. 

Figures, he thinks with wry resignation. He always did get it bad for a person with a sharp eyes and a wit that could yank your feet out from under you.

—

When Steve tucks his chin against his chest, Tony feels warmth bloom in his own, a twist of long-buried attraction unfurling. 

Figures, Tony thinks to himself with an eyeroll. He always did get it bad for blonds who saw right though his bullshit. 

“Back up,” he hears himself say. “You’re _dating_?”

A look of panic flashes across Steve’s face. “I…a little?”

“Where are you meeting women with shared interests? The historical society? Graduate programs in early 20th century America? Lindy Hop socials?”

“No senior center jab?” Steve asks with a quirked eyebrow. 

Tony waves a hand, dismissive. “Too easy. For you, only my best insults.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies dryly.

—

Eventually, they end up in Time’s Square. Tony tries to muffle his glee over getting to examine all the screens up close while Steve has the boring task of rearranging more large objects below. At the end of a few hours, they stand back to survey the area. 

“Better,” Tony says. “Not worthy of a victory kiss yet.”

Steve nods, his mouth set. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Well, you know, the Eisenstaedt photograph. The one in Times Square on V-J Day of the sailor and dental assistant. With the”—Tony pretends to dip someone. “Don’t tell me we’ve got seven decades of photography to cover, too.”

“I’m familiar with it.”

“Not a fan? I mean, fair, she doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself very much.”

“I don’t begrudge anybody celebrating the end of a war just because I showed up late. Think I might’ve missed my chance for any of that.”

“Well, hey. Kiss me.”

Steve’s brow furrows, like he’s picking apart the offer in his head. Tony realizes he probably is, that this might feel like another joke Steve lacks the context for. 

“I’m serious, Cap,” Tony says, even as another part of him advises that this is a pretty terrible idea. “No strings, no pop culture joke. Just two guys celebrating a win.”

“I—that’s real nice of you to offer, Tony.” Steve gives masking his puzzlement a good try, but doesn’t quite manage it. “But you don’t have to.”

“That’s not a no,” Tony observes.

Steve blinks a few times and Tony watches his eyes go distant in the way they do when he’s cycling a battle scenario in his head. After a moment, he smiles faintly. 

“No,” Steve agrees, his tone wry. “I suppose it’s not.”

“Okay, so what’s the issue, Cap?”

Steve sighs.

“I’ll let you dip me. Armor’s a little heavy, but I get the feeling that won’t be an issue.”

“Tony.”

“We’re even in Time’s Square.”

“ _Tony_.”

“You celebrated at all since you woke up?”

“There hasn’t exactly been time—”

“Oh, come on, take a break Captain Workaholic,” Tony exclaims, poking Steve in the chest. “You know, the world won’t end just because you don’t know the catalyst for the Vietnam War—yeah, I poked around your bookshelf last week, don’t look so surprised. Listen, _Catcher in the Rye_? Really? We need to revisit your collection of great litera—“

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Steve snaps and grabs Tony, swooping him in a low dip and kissing him. 

_Victory!_ Tony’s mind crows, slinging an arm around Steve’s neck and letting his other go slack at his side. He hopes it looks as good as he thinks it does, two superheroes locking lips in the middle of a half-destroyed Times Square, a giant fuck-you to all the homophobes who think Steve’s one of theirs.

It’s a lovely, sweet kiss—perfectly polite, Steve’s palm supporting Tony’s neck and his other arm firm around Tony’s middle. Curious what a less-polite kiss might taste like, Tony presses up, licks along Steve’s bottom lip. Steve makes a surprised noise. He shifts his weight, and they’re both on their feet much too soon for Tony’s liking. 

Steve’s breath is hard against Tony’s cheek. He begins to step back, but Tony grabs the collar of his uniform and holds him there. 

A noise low and full of want curls in the back of Steve’s throat. 

This time, it’s electric. Steve can be single-minded, hyper-focused on one issue, and for Tony—who, admittedly, could maybe use better focus—this is often a problem. Except for now, when it turns out Steve kisses with that same focus, as if he’s determined to map out every response Tony has. Hell, he probably is mapping it out, which means it’s time for Tony to do his usual thing and distract. He presses forward. Steve’s back thumps against a wall, and Tony gets that zipper disguised among the stripes down real quick, his hand slipping into Steve’s uniform. 

“I don’t think they did this in the picture, Tony,” Steve says, remarkably steady even as his stomach shivers under Tony’s palm. 

“Welcome to the future,” Tony replies. “Jesus, they really squeezed you into this thing.”

“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“Made for a good front-page shot, though. Our children’s children will thank us. Safely preserving for future generations the ass that would make anyone salute and sign up to defend Earth.”

“Tony.”

“Seriously, did you not see the way everyone swooned when you walked onto the helicarrier in this thing?” 

“Well, I did have to appeal to a majority of Americans.”

Tony snorts a laugh. “Yeah, they mentioned you were funny.”

Steve’s hands slide behind Tony’s neck, his thumbs tipping Tony’s chin up. 

“I’m very funny,” he deadpans. 

Tony grins. He sneaks along Steve’s hip and—

Steve grabs his wrist and tucks Tony’s hand between their chests. “I might be seventy years out of date but I’m fairly certain that’s still frowned upon in public,” he says sternly, but there’s a heat in his gaze. 

“I think I know a private spot. Need a lift?”

Steve eyes him. “Is that safe?”

“Part of the fun.” 

\--

It’s not the smoothest flight, but Tony hasn’t ever been hauling 200+ pounds of American hero before. Steve is calm and—when Tony has a chance to glance at him—enchanted by the city blanketed below them. 

“Hell of a view, isn’t it?” Tony says through the comms. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Never got to see it like this.”

“What about Europe? Paris, Berlin?”

“Never during the day.” 

They land. Tony waits for the suit to disassemble around him, watching Steve. Steve watches back. He pulls off his gloves. Rolls out his shoulders and stretches his arms. Then his legs and his hips and—damn, Steve is flexible.

“You’re a very bad man,” Tony informs him, finally free of the suit and crossing the distance between them.

Steve catches Tony around the middle.

“I mean it,” Tony mutters between the kisses turning ragged with their breath. “Very bad man.”

“Whatever you say, Tony.”

“Shut up and take your shirt off.”

Steve, because he is as Tony mentioned, a very bad man, pulls off Tony’s t-shirt first. Tony grumbles at him and tugs impatiently at Steve’s uniform top until Steve indulges him, letting go of Tony long enough to slip his arms from the sleeves. The uniform is worse than Tony realized, peppered with tears and burns.

“This was the best SHIELD had? I can point out six reasons why this is the wrong material for you just from first glance. What kind of amateur hour are they running over there? I mean, look at how easily it tore right here—you can’t have a uniform for Captain America tear like—”

“Hey,” Steve interrupts. “Eyes front, Stark.”

Tony starts and glances up. Oh yes, Steve’s chest. And his arms. And that stomach—right. 

Steve takes the uniform out of Tony’s hands and tosses it aside. “You’re gonna make a fella think he’s boring,” he murmurs. 

“Well,” Tony grins. “We can’t have that.”

\--

“Holy shit,” Tony gasps, much later. “You’re never leaving. I built you your own floor. To move in. Before the sex. A platonic floor. But now, you’re definitely staying. Preferably up here, with me.”

“What?” Steve says, bewildered. 

His hair is sticking up everywhere. Between the pomade he’s been wearing and the recent activities that required Tony yank on said hair, Steve’s got a ‘do that would have been extremely fashionable in 2000. 

“You. You’re moving in, Backstreet Boy.”

“Who is—no, never mind.” Steve shakes off the tangent. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I built floors for everyone. Avengers Tower. All the letters but the A fell off anyway—is that a sign from the universe or what? I mean, aside from the portal to the literal universe opening up right above us. Anyway, you have one. A floor. Lack of foresight on my part because I already have several plans to lure you here every night.”

Steve’s face softens into an affectionate smile. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“I could pull up the blueprints right here. Look—”

A hand closes around Tony’s wrist and gently pins his arm back to the bed. Steve leans over him and kisses Tony.

“Later,” Steve murmurs. “No blueprints in bed.”

Tony frowns. Then: “no blueprints if you’re here.”

Steve considers. “Deal.”

\--

Steve turns out to be there a lot. 

Tony’s sleep hygiene goes through the roof. Pepper is equal parts thrilled and suspicious and therefore, the first one they tell.

“Oh,” she says. “Well. I suppose a war bonds sales circuit is the best prep work for handling StarkIndustries investors and charity functions. Which you will be attending with Tony once you’re both ready to go public with your relationship.” 

Pepper smiles that terrifying smile of hers, and Tony enjoys the startled look on Steve’s face.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, because Steve always did know how to pick his battles. 

\--

They tell the team not long after. There’s no real label yet, but it’s clear they’re staggering towards something and Steve thinks transparency is best. Tony has taken just about every relationship approach out for a spin—secret, semi-secret, extremely public, one-sided courtship, rumored relationship, and everything in between and/or adjacent to—and decides to let Steve lead on this one. 

After everyone has settled into their floors at the Tower, Steve calls a meeting. It’s brief and to the point in a way that surprises Tony until he remembers Steve has, based on their enjoyable and frequent tumbles, most assuredly had relationships with men before. He would have had to keep them secret until he woke to a world new. Stating the facts out loud to his team has to be a relief. 

Tony notices they’re all looking at him. He rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me I’m getting a collective Avengers shovel talk.”

Steve does that jaw clench that means he’s hiding a smile. “I think they’re waiting for you to say something, too.”

“Oh.” Tony blinks. “Um. It’s true. We’re fucking.”

“Very romantic,” Steve says dryly. 

“This is excellent news!” Thor booms. “It is a joyous thing to find companionship in a shield brother. We must celebrate!”

“Well,” Clint says, tipping his chair back on two legs. “I’m looking forward to watching heads explode when the world finds out you’re gay. Is it just dudes or—ow, hey! What the hell, Nat!”

“Manners,” Nat replies. 

“Never thought much about it,” Steve replies. “Knowing a person first always seemed most important.”

“You’re very calm about this,” Bruce observes. 

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been fighting for something my whole life—to stay alive, end HYDRA, stop an alien invasion, learn my way around a new century. What’s another battle, especially if it’ll help someone else have an easier way?”

“No,” Bruce says slowly, smiling. “I meant falling in with Tony Stark.”

“Hey,” Tony pouts. “You’re supposed to be on my side, Banner.”

Steve laughs and kisses Tony right there in front of the whole team.


	2. One: Be My Wingman

The first photograph turns up a few days after Steve calls the team meeting, splashed across the front of a tabloid that’s recently decided its sole beat is the Avengers. 

During the low-energy slump of midafternoon, Nat finds Steve, Clint, and Tony in the communal kitchen. Steve and Clint are at the table reading or working, and Tony sits on the floor near the sink, the garbage disposal in pieces around him. “It’s not like I haven’t told Thor he can’t put this much pasta down the disposal,” Tony is muttering while he works. “Jesus, it’s turned into a paste. I’d like to see Mjolnir take care of this.”

“You’ll want to see this, Stark,” Nat says and tosses the tabloid in front of Steve. 

It’s a beautiful shot, Iron Man and Captain America framed in the center, the colors of their uniforms complementing each other. Whoever it was had been close enough to get the expression on Steve’s face. He’s laughing at something Tony said, the wind sweeping his hair back. With the faceplate down, there’s no way to see Tony’s face, but the helmet is turned toward Steve, tilted slightly as if whispering a joke to him. Tony has been caught in various states of undress or rock bottom by the paparazzi since he was a teenager, but the intimacy of this shot shocks him. 

Then he sees the headline. 

YOU CAN BE MY WINGMAN ANYTIME: IRON MAN GIVES CAPTAIN AMERICA A LIFT HOME

“Latest edition,” Nat says. “Someone got a lucky shot of you two on your way back from the recent clean-up.”

“Wait,” Clint says, turning his head to study the headline. “Is that quoting what I think it’s quoting?”

Steve flips open the tabloid to read the article. 

“Steve, what are you doing?” Tony demands. 

“Research,” Steve replies. 

“They don’t say anything about you two being involved,” Nat continues. “It’s 700 words on your bromance.”

“What. Wait. I’m Maverick, right? Tell me they’re not calling me Iceman. You’re Iceman, Steve.”

“Uh huh.” 

“It says here you two were out on cleaning duty,” Clint offers, reading over Steve’s shoulder. “Just bros being bros, giving dudes a lift home.”

“You’re not going to ask me who Iceman and Maverick are?” Tony asks, ignoring Clint. 

“At some point, you’ll lose patience and tell me,” Steve replies. “Nat’s right, Tony. Nothing about us being together.” 

“I can’t believe this,” Tony is still muttering. “You know, if it’d been Romanov, there would have already been a paragraph speculating on when the wedding was—or if it’d already happened.”

Nat leans her hip against the table and folds her arms. “Short of making out in public, I don’t think anyone will make the jump to ‘they’re dating.’ And you’d probably have to be caught a few times for it to stick—never underestimate the power of heteronormativity.”

Steve glances at her and then over at Tony. 

Nat follows Steve’s gaze. “You did make out in public.”

“Steve never got his Time’s Square victory kiss,” Tony protests.

“Good thing you were there to fall on the grenade.” 

Steve coughs, covering a laugh. He ducks his head, studying the article again. 

“Accidentally getting married might do it, too,” Clint adds. “Did you and Steve happen to accidentally get married?”

“What? No.”

“Oh come on, Clint,” Nat says, ignoring Tony. “Steve would never agree to an engagement without at least a vibranium ring.”

“Damn right,” Steve says without looking up.

“Vibranium?” Tony asks. “Really?”

“Won’t react to the shield.”

“You’ve thought about a ring already.”

Steve looks up and sighs. “World War II, plane crash, frozen for 70 years? Yeah, I’ve thought about a ring.”

“Oh,” Tony says, his throat thick. “Well, that’s…oh.”

“Of course,” Steve continues with a smirk. “We’ll first have to be acknowledged as involved by the tabloids.”

“I can see the headlines now,” Clint announces, sweeping a hand through the air. “Rogers and Stark purchase a house together, commit to avenging full time. Rogers and Stark platonically married: how the two best friends decided to pool their resources for a brighter tomorrow. Rogers and Stark: no homo.”

Tony groans and drops his forehead to the tabletop. Steve’s fingers brush through his hair. It helps a little, he admits grudgingly and stays there while Clint and Nat speculate increasingly absurd headlines and Steve presses out the knots in Tony’s neck and shoulders.


	3. Two: Rebels with a Cause

Tony gets the idea from the tabloid that is now, much to his annoyance, displayed on the fridge in the communal kitchen. Pepper and Hill have been on him to do some PR work for StarkIndustries and the Avengers, so why not a charity volleyball tournament? Two problems solved with one afternoon of strutting around in front of a crowd of investors and cameras, some carefully-chosen members of the general public, etc. etc. SHIELD will leave him alone and Pepper might stop wearing that look that says _I know your history with impulse control_ whenever she sees him and Steve together. It’s brilliant.

Luckily, Pepper and Hill both agree to the idea because Tony rush-ordered his swimsuit.

Unluckily, Tony had failed to consider precisely who his colleagues are.

“I don’t understand,” Thor says. “What was amiss with that serve?”

“It’s three inches into the ground and deflated, big guy,” Clint says from around a whistle, perched in a crouch at the top of a referee stand. “Need the volleyball in ball shape to play.”

Thor mutters something that sounds like it might include _petty Midgardian stakes_ and _lack of bloodshed_. He picks up another volleyball from the big crate Tony had delivered earlier in the day. 

“Think we should be worried about a sudden band of severe thunderstorms in the area?” Tony asks Steve under his breath.

“No,” Steve replies automatically. Then, watching Thor crack his knuckles, “maybe.”

“Comforting,” Tony says, tossing him a new volleyball. “Your serve, Cap. Be gentle.”

Steve eyes him. “You can’t make reinforced volleyballs?”

“I could,” Tony confirms. “This is more fun. Romanov, what’s our body count?”

“Twelve,” Nat calls from where she’s painting her toenails on the sidelines. “I’m on your team, right, Stark?”

“Yep. Why?”

“Making sure I’ve got the colors right,” she replies, capping the bottle. Her nails are matching red and gold.

“Why are you doing that, exactly?”

“Ask your superhusband,” Nat replies sweetly. 

Next to him, Steve gives a heaving sigh, his eyes rolling skyward. The nickname had started after Clint and Nat had planned Tony and Steve’s platonic wedding. Sketches—surprisingly detailed ones—of a farmhouse they’d dreamed up for the ceremony and reception kept company with the tabloid on the fridge. Tony was frankly alarmed at the amount of twinkle lights in mason jars included in the sketches.

“Nat asked if she’d be playing to win or playing to encourage donations,” Steve explains.

“What’s that have to do with a mani-pedi?” 

“Oh come on, Stark,” Nat nearly purrs, fluttering her eyelashes. “Surely you of all people can put it together.” 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony begins in mock outrage. “Did you ask your female teammate to use her _sex appeal_ for this event?”

Steve lifts one of his I-told-you-so eyebrows at Nat, who grins.

“Shame you missed our tactical meeting about it,” Nat says. “I ran a few options for day-of by Steve before we settled on one.”

“You lucky bastard,” Tony tells Steve.

“It was educational,” Steve says. “I never knew you could hide that many weapons in a bikini.”

“Excellent. Romanov, upgrade of your choice next week. Rush order. Oh, and permission to break a few fingers of whoever’s dumb enough to try something with you.”

Nat smiles. “You get me the nicest things.” She strolls out of the gym.

“She would’ve knifed me if I was there,” Tony muses.

“Nah, she likes you,” Steve replies. “Probably just a light tazing.”

The volleyball pancakes at Tony’s and Steve’s feet. 

Clint’s whistle shrieks through the air.

“Penalty! Too much force.”

“Why could we not just play croquet?” Thor complains. “I am much better with a hammer.”

\--

Day of the big tournament, Tony talks the rest of them into wearing cover-ups or robes until they’re on the court. 

“It’ll be a good way to get the crowd fired up,” he argues. “Big reveals. Who is everyone wearing, all that.”

They all agree, though Tony can tell it’s with a great deal of skepticism. He doesn’t care—as long as he gets to show Steve his day-of choice in front of the crowd… and if Steve reacts in a way that’s just not platonic, oops, oh well. Guess the tabloids will have to acknowledge them as a couple, then. 

It helps that he’s right about the crowd. His colleagues, despite their social manners and skills being on the low end when there's not classified information to steal, know how to read a room and lean in. By the time it’s Tony turn, the crowd is noisy. He tosses his robe aside with a flourish and a spin, and the yelling is near deafening when they see his Captain America speedo. 

Steve is staring at Tony’s uniform of choice when Tony struts up to meet him at the net. His eyes snap up and there’s that challenge Tony likes so much. 

“Like it?” Tony asks. “Got it special for the game.”

“They’re your colors,” Steve says, a compliment and a claim. “That reminds me…”

Steve earned his reputation as a master strategist for a reason, Tony will remember later, and he can outplay even the forward-thinking chaotic-good futurist Tony Stark. 

The crowd screams even louder. Steve is wearing a pair of swim trunks that fit well over his hips and thighs. They're patterned in the same red and gold as the Iron Man armor. Tony’s eyes sweep up over Steve’s bare chest and meet Steve’s gaze just as Steve puts on a StarkIndustries ballcap. 

“You underhanded bastard,” Tony breathes.

Steve leans closer and for a wild moment, Tony thinks Steve is about to kiss him through the net. But he catches the mischief in Steve’s expression. Steve grabs the volleyball from him. 

“Language,” he murmurs. “They’re broadcasting this live.”

“You’re gonna pay for this, Rogers.”

Steve’s grin is slow and full of promise. “I’m counting on it.”

“HEY,” Clint yells. “We gonna flirt or we gonna play?”

“Game on,” Tony says. 

\--

The games themselves are, predictably, a disaster, but the Maria Stark Foundation meets its yearly fundraising goal by the end of the afternoon, and SHIELD/the Avengers get enough good PR to cover at least two Avengers battles. Three, if property damage is kept to a minimum. Hill and Pepper are thrilled. Thor, Clint, Nat, and Bruce all got to work off some stress in a non-work environment. Tony is certain he flirted hard enough even the straightest folks could see he and Steve were going to wind up in bed that night. 

\--

Steve wakes the next morning, the last of the pleasant aches from yesterday’s tournament fading like a dream. He lets the world around him come into shape slowly. The morning sunlight creeping under the curtains. The murmur of a city not quite awake. Tony’s soft breath on the pillow beside him.

Steve rolls over and layers kisses along the back of Tony’s shoulder, neck, and down his spine until Tony is wriggling under him. 

“No fair,” Tony mutters into the pillow. 

“What’s not?” Steve asks, curling his fingers around Tony’s hip. 

“You know what,” Tony snaps. “It’s early.”

“I thought you liked it when I begged.” 

Tony sucks in a sharp breath, last night flashing back to him. How he’d grabbed Steve’s chin tight and commanded, _beg me for it, Steve_ , and Steve had. How Tony kissed him hard, pressing his tongue into Steve’s mouth like he wanted to taste those words himself and Steve gasped, _fuck me, Tony, god damn it_ and Tony had, near-delirious with desire, Steve cursing beneath him. 

“Fuck,” Tony says and flips over, hauling Steve down for a kiss and flinging a leg over his hip. “How did I ever think you were a blushing virgin?”

—

The newspapers all cover the tournament, the same picture of Steve and Tony meeting at the net circulating. Tony stands with his fingers hooked in the net, the volleyball under his arm. His grin is unmistakably flirtatious. Steve looks serenely back at him, affection in his expression, hands on hips and his body turned fully towards Tony. 

REBELS WITH A CAUSE: TEAMMATES RAISE MILLIONS FOR CHARITY

“What the fuck,” hisses Tony. “What the fuck, what the fuck, _what the fuck_.”

“Told you, should’ve made out in public,” Nat calls. 

“Or had sex right there on the volleyball court,” Bruce suggests. 

“Dude.” Clint holds up his hand for a high-five. Bruce takes it. “Nice.”

“You’re all evicted,” Tony says.

“You have a contract with SHIELD,” Nat replies. “Can’t kick us out while we’re all Avengers.”

“Traitors! All of you!” Tony shouts and flings himself indignantly onto the sofa, burying his face in Steve’s side.


	4. Three: No Walk in the Park

Tony sulks in the workshop for near a week before Steve walks in one afternoon and comments on what a beautiful day it is before looping an arm around Tony’s middle and carrying him outside like he weighs nothing. 

“I see, this is mutiny,” Tony mutters after his squirming does nothing to dissuade Steve. In fact, most insulting of all, Steve easily picked up a pair of Tony’s shoes and a light jacket on their way out. “You’re all conspiring against me.”

“For fresh air and sunshine,” Steve confirms. 

“UV rays and polluted air,” Tony replies. “Cancer.”

“You got me,” Steve deadpans. “I’m playing the long game.” 

Steve releases Tony once they’ve made their way to a park and lets him put his shoes on. He holds out a bottle of sunscreen. Tony stares at the bottle, then meets Steve’s gaze. 

“You’re not serious.”

“I could give you the whole PSA I did last week if you like.” Steve nods when Tony grabs the bottle. “Thanks for signing me up for those, by the way. I’m sure they won’t join the archive of embarrassing Captain America footage.”

Tony snorts a laugh. “Ah, well. You were pompous, and I was a dick. I didn’t handle it well. Would you believe me if I said sorry?”

Steve leans down to wipe an extra streak of sunscreen away from Tony’s cheek. He smiles, then holds out his hand. “Take a stroll with me?”

“Holding hands? You don’t mind?”

Steve looks surprised. “Why would I mind?”

“You seem relieved the press thinks we’re friends.”

“Ah.” Steve rolls this around in his head for a moment. “Not relieved,” he says slowly. “I guess I never thought it was that important. Half of what was printed about me during the war wasn’t true. I knew what was, and that seemed enough.”

“Printing lies and rumors, eh? Well, I have some experience with that. Come on, give me your hand, you great big sap. Let us take a turn about the pond.”

Steve grins and his hand is warm and callused when Tony takes it. There are a handful of people walking dogs and joggers pass through regularly, but the park is close enough to Stark Tower that most don’t give them a second glance. Tony admits to himself that Steve was right—it’s a beautiful day, and it feels refreshing to leave his workshop for a bit. They pause on a footbridge and look out over the water.

“It really doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t?”

“The press. Saying we’re friends.”

“No. I love you. If they can’t see that…” Steve shrugs.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Steve blinks. “Oh. I guess I haven’t said it before.”

Tony splutters. 

“Want me to say it again? Or should I make a grand gesture?” Steve’s tone is teasing. 

“We’re on a goddamn footbridge in the late afternoon after walking around a park holding hands,” Tony manages, sure his expression is a little wild-eyed. “What is a _grand gesture_ , Rogers? Skywriting?”

Steve just smiles, stepping into Tony’s space. “I figured that’d be your territory. What with the suit.”

“Smooth bastard,” Tony mutters, his eyes slipping closed as Steve cups his cheek. 

“Maybe I could get one of those—what did Clint call them? Flash mobs? That are so popular.”

Tony’s eyes fly open. “A _flash mob_? Don’t you fucking dare ruin this moment with a bunch of strangers who—“

Steve cuts off whatever tirade Tony had ready, kissing him softly. Tony thinks he ought to be annoyed, Steve riling him up about fucking _flash mobs_ , the absolute dick, but there are more interesting things happening, like Steve’s hand pressed to his lower back or how he’s kissing Tony like it’s the most important part of his day. That’s heady stuff, considering he spent the morning talking tactical Earth defense with Hill and Fury. 

As if Tony thought such things into being, Steve jerks back and turns. A half-second later, the bridge falls away beneath Tony’s feet, and it’s only Steve’s arm around him that keeps him from dropping. Steve drags them to cover.

“You know, I miss the days when the most exciting thing to happen on a walk was an asthma attack,” Steve observes. 

“You liar. I know for a fact you would have picked a fight with some bruiser beating up on someone not-his-own-size.”

“I guess some things never change.”

The Iron Man suit surrounds him a few minutes later, Nat, Clint, and Thor on its heels. Nat throws Steve’s shield in a curving arc, Tony tumbling backwards into the air to give Steve cover when he darts up to pluck it from the sky. 

—

Honestly, Tony is surprised the short battle in the park got any coverage. He hadn’t seen any trace of the press there.

NO WALK IN THE PARK, reads this headline. 

_New York City was once again reminded of the benefit of having our own set of superheroes-in-residence,_ the article elaborates. _Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, leader of the team known as The Avengers, was in the park this afternoon with teammate, Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Mr. Stark is also the team benefactor, converting Stark Tower into the headquarters for the Avengers…_

“It’s like they’re just messing with me now,” Tony says, glaring at the article. “We were kissing, for fuck’s sake. On a bridge. It was _romantic_.”

“Your feelings are valid, Tony,” Steve replies from where he’s absorbed in a crossword puzzle.

Tony crumples up the page and whips it at Steve, who deflects it without looking up.


	5. Four: Iron-Clad Friendship

Steve never cared much for the attention he got as a bonds salesman or later as a special operative. He’d gone to war because it was the right thing to do. He’d gone to find Tony in the low hours after Fury had flung trading cards splattered with Coulson’s blood at them, called the idea of uniting their abilities an “old-fashioned notion,” because that was the right thing to do, too. 

Steve could recognize a pro manipulator when he saw one. You got to see an awful lot when folks thought you were nothin’. It ate at him to fall in with Fury’s unspoken order. But the shaken look on Tony’s face pulled him from his seat, to follow after, to suit up. It was what he needed to do, and so he did it. Same as always. 

Now, Steve isn’t sure what the right thing to do is. He’s so distracted by the puzzle, he misses one of Thor’s tells and takes hit to the solar plexus. They’ve been pulling their punches during training, but Thor’s still a god, and it’ll smart for a day or two. 

Thor holds out a hand and pulls Steve to his feet, then retrieves water bottles for both of them. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, downing half of his at once. 

“What troubles you?”

Steve looks at Thor blankly. 

“You are distracted; else you’d never have let that hit land.” Thor nods at Steve’s abdomen. “You protect yourself well there. I assume because it draws the eye in the field.”

Steve snorts. 

“I will not press it if you do not wish to talk,” Thor adds. 

“No, it’s fine,” Steve replies. “It’s the media coverage about me and Tony. It bugs Tony, but I don’t care much. Honestly, I’d rather not give away more parts of who I am to the general public.”

“You wish your life to be your own.”

“Yes.”

Thor nods, mulling this over. “I know something of this. I was raised to be a king, my life’s work to rule over Asgard after my father made his journey to Valhalla. Loki, too, twice over—as Asgardian and Frost Giant both, yet the latter was kept from him. Ignored. He remembers our childhood differently than I: that he was mere shadow to me.” Thor pauses for a long moment. “I never knew what unspoken pain he carried. You saw what it did to him.”

“Hard to miss it,” Steve says, not unkindly. 

“Yes, I’m afraid he’s always had a flair for the dramatic. Family trait,” Thor replies with a trace of a self-deprecating smile. “It is my understanding these experiences are not unlike Stark’s childhood. The expectation to rule, a distant father. Yet, he still keeps his own counsel at times.”

“He chooses what to share and when, you mean. Sets boundaries.”

“Stark _chooses_ ,” Thor says. “He chooses for himself, no one else. It is never chosen for him.”

Steve frowns. “What does that have to do with our relationship?”

Thor shrugs. “Perhaps it feels like an attempt to erase or ignore part of who he is to make him more acceptable to Midgard.”

Steve lets this sink in. It didn’t occur to him that not talking about his relationships could feel like that. 

“How d’you think Tony would feel about you comparing him to Loki?”

“In another universe, I expect they would have gotten on quite well.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Yes,” Thor agrees with a grin. “I believe it would be.”

—

Over the next few days, Steve mulls over his conversation with Thor and the incident in the park. Tony knows enough about being in the spotlight. If this causes him pain, Steve ought to trust Tony on being more open about their relationship. So he will. It’s the right thing to do.

The first opportunity arrives at a press circuit Hill and Pepper had scheduled weeks ago. About halfway through their usual questions, one reporter stands up. He’s new to these briefings, but always asks questions that dig a little deeper than their usual good-PR-fluff. 

“Captain Rogers, there’s been a lot of press coverage recently of you and Mr. Stark,” the reporter begins. “Previous interviews have focused on your working relationship. How would you describe your personal relationship with Mr. Stark?”

Steve’s answering smile is warm. He leans forward and says clearly into the mic: “I love Tony Stark.”

—

They’re on the next day’s front page, a photograph of Steve answering the question while Tony gazes over at him, chin propped up with one hand, and that private, not-press-ready grin on his face. 

LOVE & SUPERHEROES: INSIDE ROGERS AND STARK’S IRON-CLAD FRIENDSHIP. 

Steve swears he hears Tony’s shriek of rage from three floors away.


	6. Interlude

Tony seethes quietly over the tabloids and newspaper headlines that accumulate on the Tower fridge, only a few with a whiff of suspected romantic involvement. The rest praise how well Tony and Steve work together, their sturdy friendship the foundation of a global defense team. 

“I don’t know why they all seem to think friendships can’t implode,” Bruce commented one morning, surveying the latest additions to the collection. “That estrangement or falling out is sometimes even worse.”

It was a good point, Steve reflects, thinking back on the comment and watching Tony pace the length of his bedroom. Before the two of them got involved, Tony had remarked how lucky he was he and Pepper had managed--with a lot of work--to ease into close friends and business partners after it became clear their romantic relationship wasn't good for either of them. The end of that friendship seems a far more dangerous prospect.

“Go to sleep, Steve. Nothing’s slowing down up here tonight,” Tony says, tapping his temple.

“I could fix that,” Steve replies, folding his hands behind his head. 

Tony flashes him a grin. “Darling, you’re a saint for thinking so.”

“Well, you know me. I never back down from a challenge.”

Tony laughs. “Another time, hero. Get your beauty rest. Freedom depends on that handsome face.”

He ducks when Steve whips a pillow at him. 

The night has turned deep velvet before Tony feels his body unwind and mind slow. He rolls his neck. Deep breath in. Out. Tony glances over at Steve, sprawled on his stomach, quietly still in sleep. Since they began to share a bed, Tony has wondered if it’s the serum that drags Steve under so completely—as in all things, the best version of itself. 

Tony rolls over. He kisses Steve lightly on the back of his neck, his shoulders. Steve stirs beneath him, awake nearly as quickly as he falls asleep.

“Slowing down?” Steve murmurs.

“Just getting started,” Tony replies 

Tony layers kisses down Steve’s spine. He digs his fingers into Steve’s sides, dragging down in that way that makes Steve press a moan into a pillow. Steve likes touch, Tony learned quickly. The data gathering has been a source of joy, watching how each shoulder touch means Steve leans closer. A palm pressed briefly to his back reassures him of your presence. He holds himself as still as he can in public, but when it’s just the two of them, Steve arches into every brush of Tony against him, stretching each moment of contact. 

The flip side is Steve is reluctant to initiate contact. He wants to—a person doesn’t have to be a particularly adept Steve-reader to know that. First, it was rudderless in a new century with a pile of changed social mores to learn. After that…well, it’s not something Steve has shared outside of the team, but even he hasn’t yet found the limits of his strength.

Steve is breathing hard now. Tony nuzzles at his low back, his sacrum, following the roil of Steve’s hips. Even with all that fear of hurting someone by accident, once Steve gets his hands on Tony, Tony thinks about how he must have been a very very good person in a former life. 

“Tony,” Steve gasps, patience wearing thin. “Tony—come on.”

“I thought you were supposed to be distracting me.”

“You ass.”

“I think I should take that as a compliment,” Tony muses. “Considering what a fine one”—and here he slaps Steve’s ass—“you have. I’d like to get better acquainted.”

Steve is very still. Tony freezes, studying the long plane of Steve’s back, suddenly worried.

“Steve?” 

Steve’s shoulders and back begin to quiver, then shake.

“Oh my God,” Tony exclaims. “You’re the ass!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve gasps between choked off laughter. 

“Okay, fine, it wasn’t my best line, but give me a break! I was up trying to figure out that prototype for Clint’s bow, plus the new designs for Pepper on—stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, Tony, it was just so _earnest_ and—hey! What—I thought we agreed no submissions or other training techniques in bed.”

“I never agreed to such a ridiculous proposition.”

“I bet JARVIS has the recording if you’d care to rev—”

“No! No, I would not care to, I have much better ideas for how to use my time, thank you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Now lie back, Rogers, and think of America.”

“I’ll do one of those things.”

Tony makes a show of heaving a big sigh. “You drive a hard bargain— _don’t_ ,” he interrupts, seeing Steve open his mouth, “don’t you dare make a pun.”

Steve shrugs and reels Tony in for a kiss instead.


	7. Five: Back for That Dance

“I have an idea,” Tony announces.

“New-restaurant-to-try-idea or I-want-to-buy-a-restaurant idea?” Steve asks. 

“You learn fast,” Pepper notes.

Tony frowns. “That was one time and hey, you liked the idea of owning a restaurant.” 

“I liked the idea of StarkIndustries financially investing in local businesses through restaurants, not you buying a whole city block of them to create—and I’m quoting directly from your proposal, Tony— ‘a culinary Disney World.’” Pepper sips her coffee, ignoring the look of deep betrayal on Tony’s face. 

Tony turns to Steve. “We’re going dancing.”

The sight of Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, the Sentinel of Liberty, choking on his coffee and spitting half of it down his front is a memory Tony decides he will treasure forever. 

“What?” Steve asks between coughs. “I— _what_?”

Pepper hands him a few napkins and Steve nods his thanks. He blots at his shirt.

“Dancing. The thing where you move your feet, except it’s faster than walking and slower than running.”

“Tony,” Steve begins, a warning.

“Gotta learn sometime. You think Pepper isn’t going to make you take a spin on the dance floor once you’re a regular fixture at the charity events?”

Steve glances over to where Pepper is—where Pepper _was_ , because she’s always had excellent instincts—and then looks back to Tony when it’s clear she’s cleared out. There’s a flash of uncertainty and worry on his face Tony hasn’t seen since he first showed up at Steve’s sad apartment and dragged him out to haul around rubble. 

“Steve,” Tony says, gently. “It’s a beginner lesson series, mostly people from the surrounding neighborhoods. Very welcoming, according to all the reviews JARVIS read. Let’s give it a try, okay?”

Steve swallows a few times, but: “okay.”

\--

The dance lesson is in an old church, tucked back from the main roads. It’s just a touch shabby around the edges, the gardens tended with love but not meticulous care. The stained glass windows are clean, though there are spider webs in the eaves. Steve loves it immediately. 

Inside, they check in at a card table where the volunteer—a woman in her late 20s with lipstick Peggy would’ve loved—almost succeeds in hiding her surprised recognition. 

“Hi,” Tony says. “We’re here for the beginner lessons?”

“Sure,” she says. “If you wouldn’t mind signing in on this sheet and signing our waiver. Did you pay online or would you like to now?”

“Already taken care of,” Tony replies. 

“What’s the name?” the woman asks on autopilot and blushes. But she presses her lips together in grim determination to see this question through. 

Steve admires the choice. He lets himself relax just a bit.

“Tony Danza,” Tony replies.

The woman barks out a startled laugh, then ducks her head to check her laptop. “Yep, I see you on the list. Here are some nametags. Your lessons are down those stairs and to the left.”

“Thanks,” Tony says. “Good poker face.”

“Oh. Thank you?”

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly to her as he passes. Then, once they’re out of earshot: “Tony Danza?”

“Yeah, you know. Hold me closer, Tony Danza.” Tony glances back at Steve, then throws his hands up in mock despair. “Steve. You have to get caught up on this century’s jokes. Think of how hilarious I am, and _you’re missing it_.”

Steve sighs heavily and pushes past Tony into the room. They’re the first ones to arrive. It’s a good-sized room. Wood floors. Two exits.

“Turn off the tactical tracker, would ya,” Tony says around the marker cap clenched in his teeth as he follows Steve in. “I can hear the Morse code tapping away up there.”

“Habit,” Steve replies apologetically. “Does your nametag say ‘light in the loafers’ under your name?”

“Yep,” Tony says cheerfully. “It’s a pun.”

“It’s a declaration.”

“Fuck ‘em if they can’t get with the times.”

There’s a funny swooping feeling in Steve’s chest and he nearly kisses Tony right there. But then Tony slaps a nametag on the center of Steve’s chest.

 _Steve,_ it reads, _there when waltz was invented_.

“Give me that,” Steve snaps, reaching for the marker.

“Nuh-uh! Other people have to use it, Steve,” Tony says, backing away and shoving the marker into the hands of someone who just walked in the door. “It’s called sharing. You know about sharing, don’t you, Steve? Did a whole PSA on it as I remember.” Tony glances over at the woman he’s just handed the marker to. “This guy, am I right?”

The woman blinks. “Oh…no, thank you, I’m not part of this,” she replies lightly and strides past them to the nametags. 

Steve wishes he was as good with his phone as Clint was, just to have a record of Tony’s bewildered face. 

“Real charmer, you,” Steve murmurs. 

“Rude,” Tony mutters back. “You, very.”

The woman circles back, wearing a nametag with _Ger_ printed on it in neat capitals and _she/her_ beneath it. “Hi,” she says. “I’m Ger. Is this your first time doing a lesson series?”

“That obvious?” Steve asks.

She smiles back and shrugs. “It’s not a big organization. New people stick out.”

“Well, this guy”—Tony jerks a thumb at Steve—“is long overdue for learning to dance. Decades. You might say he’s making up for lost time.”

Ger studies Tony for a long moment, then looks around him to Steve. “I’m sorry, I’ve never really been in this kind of situation before. Is it politest to pretend I don’t know who you are or not?”

Steve is laughing before he has a chance to think about it. “Steve,” he says, holding out his hand. “Afraid I don’t have an answer.”

“Cool,” Ger says, and shakes it. “Let’s be awkward collectively, then.”

“No one,” Tony says in a put-upon tone, “gets me.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Ger says to Steve.

“It is,” Steve deadpans. “Save yourself.”

Ger laughs. “So, what roles are you two dancing?”

Steve blinks, then glances over at Tony, who’s still sulking. “Roles?”

“Yeah. Lead or follow.”

“I… didn’t realize you could pick,” Steve says, embarrassed.

“Sure,” Ger chirps. “Lots of folks learn both. Lots just pick a role and stick with it. I mostly follow, but I’m learning to lead now so my girlfriend and I can dance together. Plus,” she leans forward and whispers loudly, “you get to tell people you’re ambi _dance_ trous.”

“Oh my God,” Tony mutters.

“Sold,” Steve says.

When class begins, the leads and follows split up to learn the footwork before dancing together. Steve can’t confide this in Tony yet—not here—but the idea of following, being lead by reading someone else’s cues is appealing. He’s always been good at that. No one knows the Avengers like Steve does. Even during the war and before he joined up, truly joined up, he could navigate around a kick-line on an unfamiliar stage. The USO girls had taught him a few moves, too, on those long tours together. 

Plus, if he doesn’t have to lead now, maybe he won’t hurt anyone on accident, either. 

They partner up, rotate after a few steps with each person, and Steve finds that dance chemistry varies quite a lot. Some of the leads he understands immediately. Others don’t signal a move and look frustrated when he doesn’t follow. Not too unlike learning to fight together, Steve notes wryly. 

Occasionally, he gets a glance of Tony across the room. He’s relaxed—actually relaxed. The dancing is like breathing for him: the easy way he moves into a different step, how he’s always there to catch the follow out of a turn. Tony’s grinning, joy radiating off of him. 

Steve's chest feels tight, but he doesn't know why.

\--

“Hey soldier,” Tony says when Steve comes back around to him. “Learning some new tactics?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies. “I think the tuck turn is really going to prove useful against Loki’s next invasion.”

Tony eyes him, and Steve realizes his joke might have come out sharper than intended. “Okay, well, you’re the one bringing it up at sparring practice.”

Tony leads him through the steps they’ve been practicing, then Steve finds himself in a spin. It’s easy as anything, Tony’s fingers curled into his palm, and the tension in Steve’s chest loosens. 

“We didn’t learn that turn yet,” Steve says. “What? Why are you grinning like that?”

“You,” Tony says. “You’re good. I mean, I thought you might be, what with how good you are in the field, but dancing. It’s your white whale.” 

“It is not my white whale.”

“Okay, okay, pick a different metaphor then.” Tony waves a hand, then looks thoughtful. “I kinda want to dip you.”

“You sure you wouldn’t drop me?”

Tony smirks and drops his voice to be heard only by them. “I’ve taken your weight before, Rogers.”

Steve very firmly tells himself he will not blush. The triumphant smile on Tony’s face suggests he is not wholly successful. 

\--

A few days after their first lesson, Steve hunts Tony down in his workshop and asks to practice before the next lesson. JARVIS turns on some music at Tony’s request and locks down the workshop at Steve’s. 

“You’re good at this,” Steve says, surprised. 

He follows Tony’s lead through another turn. Tony shrugs and is quiet for a few beats while he swings Steve out and guides him back in to closed position. 

“Mom taught me,” he replies. “She used to sneak out to dance halls before the war. And during.” 

Steve nearly holds his breath, afraid Tony will realize what he’s said and draw back into himself again. 

“She would’ve liked you,” Tony adds. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She worried about me. Who’d be there to worry about me after she was gone.”

Steve stops and Tony shoots him a puzzled look. He runs his hands over Tony’s shoulders, down his arms, and takes Tony’s hands in his. Steve flips Tony’s hands over, pressing his thumb into Tony’s palms, feeling the hard muscles of his hands, the rough calluses and raised scars from years of work. 

“Careful, Steve,” Tony murmurs. 

Steve glances up. 

“You got a plan there?”

“Tony, you don’t need someone to worry about you,” Steve replies. 

“No? That’s not what love is?”

“Not all of it. I don’t think,” Steve replies, pulling Tony in. “Maybe less for people whose partners don’t go galavanting about in armored suits they haven’t fully debugged.”

“That was one time,” Tony mutters into Steve’s shoulder. “We were on the clock. Hey.” He looks up. “You used debugged correctly.”

“Oh, are we going to revisit how you let me believe for a full week that ‘debugging’ meant wiping the insects off your armor?”

“Sorry, what were you saying about worrying?”

Steve flashes Tony a knowing look. Instead of arguing, he nuzzles behind Tony’s ear, breathing in deeply. Sweat and the woodsy smell of his soap, none of the cologne Tony usually wears when suiting up for business. Neither armor on tonight. 

“Steve,” Tony says, his fingers bunching in Steve’s shirt. “Jesus, you touch me and it’s like flipping a switch.”

“I do worry, but I trust you more. You don’t need me to worry about you. You just need someone who will be there when you call. Or even before you think to.”

“That’s a big promise, Cap.”

“Good thing I never break them.”

“What if I’m not worthy of that kind of trust?”

“You planning to argue with Captain America?” 

“Well. I’m awfully good at it.”

Steve chuckles against Tony’s neck. “I decide who to trust, and I have. I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with it, Tony.”

Tony’s fingers are in his hair, pulling Steve’s head back. Then Tony’s mouth is on his, his body pressing in, and Steve holds him there and thinks he could glide across any dance floor as well as Ginger Rogers if it were Tony Stark he was following. 

\--

They finish the lesson series, and soon enough, the press finds out about it.

BACK FOR THAT DANCE: TONY STARK AND STEVE ROGERS LEARN THE LINDY HOP

_Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were spotted earlier this week leaving a local lesson series. According to our sources, the two friends have been learning Lindy Hop…_

“Does _everyone_ know about that conversation?” Steve gripes. 

Tony raises his head from where he’d buried it in his arms on the table. “People love tragic love stories, Steve. Of course everyone knows your last words and first words were about your date with Peggy.”

“So close,” Nat sighs, looking over at the headline. “And yet, still so stupid.”

“At what date will you two demonstrate romantic affection in public?” Thor asks. “I wish to be present and lend my support to your union.”

Tony rubs a hand over his face. “At this rate, they’ll think I’m giving Steve CPR.”

“If that’s not a comment on the decline of practical first aid education, I don’t know what is,” Clint says. “Maybe you should make another PSA, Steve.”

Steve leans across the table to swipe Clint’s cereal and methodically eats the entire bowl. 

“Serves you right,” Nat says unsympathetically to Clint’s pout.


	8. +1: Everyone Figures It Out (...Mostly)

Tony thinks he’s done pretty well dealing with this media coverage, all things considered, even if Steve gives him a deeply skeptical look when he says so. Tony pouts all the way to the fundraiser they’ve got on the docket: hosting a bachelor auction with New York’s most eligible. Pepper had talked Tony into going, which meant Steve was going. As a result, Nat was also going to keep the two of them out of trouble (aka, getting bid on when they had not signed up for the auction), and Clint was going to back Nat up. Thor didn’t want to be left out, so it was nearly the whole clown car—except Bruce who’d laughed loudly and shut the door in Tony’s face when he’d gone to invite him.

Probably for the best. 

Avengers in attendance does mean more publicity for the charity and likely higher bids, which is why Pepper only sighs when she sees them walk in.

“Try not to let them break anything,” she says to Steve.

Tony doesn’t know if he should be more offended at the implication or how Steve snaps off a smart salute and brisk “ma’am” to the order. 

“I like him,” Pepper confides to Tony, patting Steve’s shoulder. 

“I don’t like it,” Tony says, watching Pepper stroll away. “How do I know this isn’t some grand scheme the two of you have been planning all along to keep me in line?”

“What, you mean like I’m a honey jar?”

“Honey _pot_ , Steve. Pepper is crafty. Who knows what she’s dragged you into unwittingly.” Tony gasps and points at him. “It’s happening right now! You’re distracting me with your aw-shucks-this-century-and-all-it’s-texting routine!” 

“Yes. You’ve found us out. Oh no.”

“Were you this much of a sarcastic bastard in the newsreels?” 

“I was not,” Steve replies mildly. “Catch more flies with honey jars.”

Tony’s mouth works a few times, but he can’t quite formulate a reply. Especially not when Steve’s wearing that mischievous grin, which, honestly, is Tony’s favorite.

“You’re up,” Steve says and nods at the stage.

“This isn’t over,” Tony replies primly and goes to fulfill his host and auctioneer duties. 

\--

Steve is content to sit at the bar and watch Tony. He’s a natural on stage, his bright-eyed gaze, wide grin, and contagious enthusiasm. How he makes a person feel like they’re worth his time and attention, even in a crowd like this. Occasionally, his eyes find Steve in the back of the room and Tony’s gaze goes soft for just a moment. Just for Steve. 

It’s enough to bowl a fella over. 

“Oh, Steve, there you are,” Pepper says, rushing over. “I’ve had a note from one of our last bachelors. He can’t make the auction. I have something else to take care of—would you mind giving Tony this note for me?”

“Sure,” Steve says, taking the folded square. 

“You’re a dream,” she says and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.”

Steve makes his way around the outer edge of the room and into the stage wings, thinking he can cross once Tony’s finished with the most recent bid and hand off the note. 

As soon as the lights hit him, Steve realizes his mistake. There’s a gasp and some excited murmurs from the audience. But, he’s on the stage now and he’s faced down worse, so Steve keeps his shoulders back and heads towards Tony.

“What are you doing?” Tony asks, bewildered. 

“Pepper asked me to give you this,” Steve says. “I didn’t realize they’d think…well, you know.”

“Seems not. Those USO days are really behind you, huh?” Tony says, trying not to show his amusement. He takes the note and huffs a laugh when he reads it.

“I think the girls would’ve killed me if I interrupted them like this.”

“Two thousand!” someone shouts.

Steve clamps down on a sudden spike of panic and presses his expression into the Captain America calm. 

“What kind of opening bid is that?” Tony mutters, stuffing the note in his jacket pocket. 

“Three thousand!”

“Got a plan out of this?” Steve asks.

“You’re the tactical genius.”

Steve shakes his head with a wry smile. “Not my world.”

Tony studies him, then scans the room before looking back at Steve. “Do you trust me, Steve?”

“Of course,” Steve says. “But what does that—”

Tony turns the mic on and flashes his most brilliant grin. “Thank you for your generosity, honored guests, but I'm afraid this one’s taken.”

Then he turns the mic back off, wraps a hand around Steve’s tie, and pulls him down into a kiss. Steve can feel his neck flush, highly aware of hundreds of eyes on them. But Tony is kissing him in that insistent, familiar way, pulling all of Steve’s attention like he always does, and Steve can’t resist his pull, could never resist it. He sinks into the kiss, his fingers catching Tony’s hip, squeezing hard. 

From the back of the room, there are two shrill whistles and a booming whoop. Then a cheer from somewhere in the audience and slowly, a ripple of applause that builds until it's thunderous. 

“Maybe those USO days aren’t entirely behind you,” Tony murmurs with a smirk. “Fine performance, Captain.”

Steve steals a quick peck off Tony. “I think you’re up.”

He slips from Tony’s grasp and waves to the audience. Steve retreats to a back room. He takes a few deep breaths until his pulse eases back to normal.

“Well, folks, that’s our show,” Tony’s voice drifts in. “And what a show. Who doesn’t love a happy ending? Thank you for your generosity this evening. If you’ve won an auction, Ms. Potts will have further information for you in the back of the ballroom. Thank you again and goodnight.” 

Tony’s there a few moments later. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Good. I’d hate to tell Pepper she was wrong,” Tony replies, and pulls the note from his jacket. 

_Here’s your chance,_ it reads. _Make it good. x, P_

“I told you,” Tony says at Steve’s surprised look. “She’s crafty.” He pauses and takes out his phone, tapping it. “JARVIS, remind me to give Ms. Potts a raise.”

“Certainly, sir. Is this in addition to the two other raises this week?”

“Sure is. Thanks, pal.”

Steve hands Tony the note back. “You done for the evening?”

“I am.”

“Good, ‘cause I’d sure like to kiss you some more.”

“And other things, too?” 

“And other things, too.”

\--

It’s late morning when Steve finally manages to pull himself from the warm tangle of bedsheets and Tony. He sees the stacks of newspapers on the kitchen table, but avoids looking at them too closely. 

Nat, stirring a mug of tea at one of the few clear spots, raises an eyebrow at him. Steve shrugs. She nods back and understanding passes between them. Over the course of an hour, Clint, Thor, and Bruce drift in and all take up various positions around the room. 

Finally, Tony walks in. He sees them all waiting and stumbles to a halt. 

“Who died,” he says. Then, “are those today’s?”

“Every edition that covered the charity auction,” Bruce says. “Seems I missed quite the evening.”

Tony snatches up the first paper. 

“VICTORY!” he shouts, holding it over his head. 

The picture, Steve notes with amusement, is not much more suggestive than any previous photographs of him and Tony together. This one is just after Tony kissed him on stage. In the picture, Tony grins at Steve, Steve’s tie still wrapped around his hand. Steve is grinning back, his cheeks flushed and his hand on Tony’s hip. They look unmistakably and entirely smitten. 

DO WE HEAR WEDDING BELLS?, reads the headline. 

It’s one of the tabloids, Steve notes. He reaches over to take it from Tony and studies the cover and headline. 

“My congratulations, friends, on becoming ‘official,’” Thor booms. “That is the correct term, yes?”

“Nailed it,” Clint confirms. 

“Nailed what?” Thor asks. 

“Did we get engaged?” Steve interrupts. “Is there some kind of 21st century courtship ritual I missed last night?”

“Ah, no,” Tony replies. “You didn’t change your Facebook status over to _engaged_ so that ritual does not take effect.”

“I don’t have a Facebook.”

“Then there’s a SHIELD agent who’s very good at their job.” Tony pauses. “Or your job. Someone’s job. Anyway. Can’t win ‘em all. Besides, if anyone asks for details, we’re covered. Clint already planned our dream wedding. Literal dream. Hey, where’d you get the specs for that farmhouse, anyway?”

“Uh,” Clint says and shoots a glance over to Nat. “About that…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, all!


End file.
